


Far Away From Home

by Torchiclove



Series: Through the Window (and into my heart) [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Abuse, Light Angst, M/M, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-21
Updated: 2018-01-21
Packaged: 2019-03-07 14:07:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13436388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Torchiclove/pseuds/Torchiclove
Summary: Taryon crashed loudly through Percival's window and into his life, and now he's left to deal with the fallout. Because he can't just turn him away.Note: you probably need to Impossible Distances to understand what's going on





	Far Away From Home

Percy woke up uncomfortably warm and filled with sudden panic.

Tary was sleeping soundly, still curled up tightly against Percy’s body, radiating heat like an oven. Percy didn’t want to disturb him—he looked so peaceful, almost angelic—but he did not want Tary to wake up plastered against his sides, just asking for things to get weird.

He extricated himself from the tangle of limbs slowly, stopping every time he saw a shift in Tary’s face or an irregularity in his breathing. It took longer than he’d like to admit, but it was finally done, and Percy slipped quickly out of his bed.

His eyes fell immediately on the window, still left open from last night, and he walked towards it tentatively. 

The cord connecting the two apartments was still up, and Tary’s window was still closed. Percy could see the same sliver of the room he always could. With a sinking feeling in his stomach he saw that the door was open and the room, always immaculate, had things strewn across the floor. It was silent and eerily still, just illuminated by the early-morning light.

Percy reconstructed the scene in his head. The door had still been closed when Tary had jumped, and he didn’t hear anything that would indicate it swinging open in the few seconds it took him to climb through Percy’s window. His dad wouldn’t have seen where he had gone, especially not in a rage like he seemed to be in. He wouldn’t have had the wherewithal, Percy hoped, to look into the window across the way; and anyway, they’d spent the next few minutes on the floor out of view, and then straight to the bed, which couldn’t be seen from the other side.

There were only a precious few seconds where Tary could’ve been seen; it was very unlikely. It still made Percy uncomfortable, as he glanced over at the still-sleeping form, face now creased slightly, fingers extended loosely towards nothing. 

Next order of business: Tary’s things. The bag of holding he’d escaped with was left unceremoniously on the floor under the window and Percy picked it up, curious to see what Tary had managed to scrape together in his hasty escape.

His first suspicion was confirmed when he reached into the bag and thought of the broad iron torso of Tary’s automaton, something he’d seen many times. The legs, arms, joints, head...all the parts were there, still waiting to be assembled. He felt a twinge of guilt, thought perhaps he was invading Tary’s privacy, but ignored the feeling. This was easier than asking about it later. He pulled out the alert device they’d built together, and the red light flashed again on his as the connection was reestablished. He pushed the button to turn it off and tossed it back in the bag.

There was nothing else important to search for, so Percy put the bag of holding down on his desk. He sat on the uncomfortable wooden chair and let his gaze linger on Tary, his soft golden hair spread in a halo around his head. His eyes trailed down Tary’s neck and stopped when he caught a faint discoloration, a grey-blue blotch of bruised skin just peeking out from beneath his shirt. 

Percy clenched his fist and took a long, deep breath, feeling bile rise in the back of his throat. Shit. Shit shit shit shit, shit, things had gotten bad. Things had gotten bad and he couldn’t even tell, oblivious as he was, looking in only through the window. Only a window into Tary’s life, so short of the full picture.

Tary, definitively, could not go back, but Percy highly doubted Vesper would want him staying with them. She was working herself half to death trying to take care of him and Cassandra, another dependant was _not_ what they needed.

Percy briefly contemplated the possibility of just hiding Tary in his room. Vesper wasn’t home much, but Cassandra was, and he didn’t exactly trust her with any secrets. She was twelve, and a little shit, and even if he made her promise he figured Vesper would know before the week was up. Option one: Probably not.

Option two: Send him back home. No. The thought made Percy feel ill.

Option three: Tell him to fend for himself. Pragmatically, the best thing to do. Morally? No.

Option four: Tell Vesper and hope she takes mercy on some poor kid her brother dragged in through the window. Ridiculous. His best choice.

While Percy started contemplating what he would say, how he could possibly phrase it to sound as convincing as possible, Tary started to stir. Just slightly, a small, incoherent mumbling, and it was enough to make Percy’s heartbeat start thumping. 

He really didn’t know how to deal with this, and it worried the hell out of him. He wasn’t ready for things to get weird.

After a few more tense seconds, Tary cracked his eyes open and unceremoniously tossed the blanket off of himself. He yawned loudly, sat up, and glanced around the room, squinting and confused.

“Morning,” Percy said, and Taryon cocked his head to the side. He opened his mouth as if to say something but closed it again, wearing a universal expression of ‘ _where am I and what did I do last night?_ ’

Tary took a few more seconds to look around with tired eyes, and the confused look on his face faded. It was replaced with something resembling relief, then worry, then, as his eyes caught Percival’s, a faint smile.

“Thank you, Percy,” he said, and it was the first time Percy had heard him express gratitude with any notion of sincerity. 

“It was, um, nothing, really,” Percy said, his teeth finding a familiar groove in his bottom lip that he chewed as an anxious habit. 

“Right. Where’s Doty?” Sentimentality over. Straight to business.

“Is that really what you’ve decided to call it?” Percy grumbled, retrieving the bag of holding from his desk and pulling out Doty’s head. He showed Tary and stuffed in back in. “All accounted for. I already checked.”

“You know me too well. Breakfast?” Tary seemed _far_ too chipper given the circumstances. It made Percy a little uneasy, but he let it go. This was better than the alternative—he’d never quite seen Tary sulk, at least not in a way that wasn’t overly theatrical. He wouldn’t know what to do if that was the case. 

Percy got up silently and motioned for Tary to follow, pointedly stopping himself from just grabbing the other boy by the hand. It was his first impulse, but nevertheless inappropriate.

He poked his head into the kitchen, which was empty. The wall clock claimed in was 9:30. Vesper wouldn’t be home until late afternoon, but it was a Saturday, so Cass was around somewhere. She liked to sleep in; they should be safe. 

“We’ve got nothing but cereal,” Percy warned, stepping into the too-small kitchen area. It barely had enough room for two people without them being uncomfortably close.

Tary looked disappointed but not surprised. “Any good stuff?”

“No,” Percy said, pulling a box of off-brand corn flakes from on top of the fridge. He took two bowls out of the cabinet (shit, the last two clean ones), and milk out of the fridge (a day past the expiration date but it smelled fine).

They ate soggy, tasteless toasted corn in silence, standing awkwardly at the kitchen counter (there wasn’t a table, or chairs, and Percy didn’t feel like risking seeing Cass in the living room). It was, quite frankly, tortuous. 

There were many, many fresh hells to contend with in the situation: the awkwardness of it all, the pointed lack of discussion about what they both knew had happened last night, the ever-present worry of running into Cass, the knowledge that _eventually_ there would have to be a discussion about whether or not Tary could stay, the faint fluttering in Percy’s chest that he really didn’t want to think about—and more, if he dwelled. 

But Tary finally broke the silence. “Percival, I feel like we’re ignoring something.” And suddenly, it was worse.  
“Yes?” Percy said hoarsely, nearly dropping his spoon.

“I know it’s a lot, and we really only met such a short time ago, but, now that I’m here, and everything’s happened...will you help me construct my automaton?”  
Right. The _automaton_ is what they’re ignoring, skirting around, awkwardly tiptoeing through like it’s a minefield. Not the bruises peppering Tary’s torso. Not the night spent tightly curled together, each other’s only comfort in the world. Not the soft kisses Percy pressed into Tary’s skin. 

Okay. Maybe that’s a little dramatic. But still...the fucking automaton?

“Of course, I’d love to take a look at all the parts. See how it works,” Percy said dryly, perhaps a little miffed. He unceremoniously dumped his bowl into the sink, avoiding eye contact.

“Thank you! It’ll be finished so quickly, there’s barely any work left, and then! Well...we’ll have a robot manservant!”

_We’ll_ have a robot manservant. He fully intended to share Doty—how sweet. Although, if Percy understood the magic correctly (which he most likely did not), Doty would only respond to it’s creator’s commands.

The train of thought—a circuitous one, as he tries to sort out the intricacies of enchantments—was broken by the sound of light footsteps and a sudden gasp.  
There, standing wide-eyed and looking ever-so-mischievous, was Cassandra. She looked like she just woke up—hair a mess, and still wearing pajamas.

She looked at Tary (frozen like a deer in the headlights of her intense gaze), then back to Percy and smirked, causing Percy to groan internally. 

“Did Vesper say we could have friends over?” She asked, all sing-song and innocent.

“We don’t _have_ any friends,” Percy grumbled, crossing his arms. This was the last thing he wanted to deal with. Couldn’t she have just waited till noon? Evening? Any other time?

“You seem to.” Cass took a step forward, and Tary snapped out of his shock. 

“Taryon Darrington,” he greeted mechanically, extending a hand. Cass took it and gave a (surprisingly firm) shake, sticking her tongue out at her brother in the process.

“Tary’s gonna stay with us for a little bit, alright?” Percy said, and Tary gave him a surprised look, one eyebrow raised.

“Why?”

“Because I _said_ so.”

“Percival, please, you act like I’m a little kid!”

“You _are_ a little–”

Percy’s annoyed quip was cut off by Tary. “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” he said, again in that unusually chipper tone given the situation. 

Cass seemed satisfied with the answer and dropped it. “Good luck convincing Vesper,” she called over her shoulder as she walked away, wearing a self-satisfied air that was _far_ too mature for a 12-year-old. 

“I won’t let Vesper make you go back home,” Percy said, after a moment of awkward silence, turning to Tary and for the first time that morning seeing a familiar sad uncertainty in his eyes.

“Thank you, Percival.”

**Author's Note:**

> I TOLD you I was working on an Impossible Distances sequel! I'm gonna be frank: I don't know how long this will be or how often it will update. Impossible Distances wasn't really popular enough for this to be my number one priority, especially with the new campaign starting up. I'm hoping I can crank out some good good darrolo content but that might not be realistic so like, hang tight. I also might change to title lol 
> 
> As a side note...me writing 12-year-old Cass: what the fuck is a child


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